Old Age – 922

Letter 8 / 3 Nov 2018. On Cricket.

This is an edited version of a letter than I sent to a closed mailing list. I try to write one everyday to a select set of people. Should you want to get one in your mailbox, please do let me know. The first letter is here. A complete archive is here.
So, I played cricket today. Properly. Bowled, batted and all that. Must have played after a year. And back then, about a year ago, when I played, I would’ve played after decades. With a S. More than one. Serious.

Here are the things that I take away from the experience. Lol. Experience 🙂

A. I enjoy physical activity. I love to move around.
And contrary to what people close to me believe, I am not inherently lazy – its the heat that has made me lazy. And I hate wearing shoes or too many clothes. If I could live in a cold country, I promise I would dress up well and even wear shoes. And I would love to move around.

B. My game sucks.
Of course there are no surprises. If it dint suck, I wouldnt be here. Writing about the experience. But today, it sucked so bad that I am embarrassed. Well, I have never been a batsman but I used to be a pretty handy bowler. And I was a brilliant fielder if nothing else. While I bowled ok today, and batted as expected, I was probably the worst fielder that I have ever been. There was no hand-eye coordination, something that I have been proud of all my life. I MUST improve. And no, I cant really “practise” but I need to get better. May be if I get regular things will improve?

C. My fitness sucks more than I suck at the game.
If I dont get regular and dont improve, I guess it will be ok. I am anyway way past my prime and I cant even imagine playing at the highest levels. But the game today made me realise how unfit I am. And at all levels. Thankfully I wasnt really panting (maybe I dint run too much?) but I couldve run faster, been more agile, fielded better! And after the game, each part of the body was hurting. And hurting as in HURTing. If I had a “functional” home, I would have sprayed myself all over with some painkiller or something. I even wished I had a masseuse to ease the pain. And although its past 11 (and thus about 12 hours since the game ended), my ankles, tendons, calves, knees and the back still hurt like crazy. Well, the Achilles tendon and the knee’s been giving me problems for some time but the calf and the back is new. Side note. When I wear the Nike sneakers, the pain is little bearable. I need to wear them more often, once the weather becomes bearable.

In fact, here’s a lesson. Things that connect you to the ground (Earth), you MUST not compromise and invest into getting the best possible alternative.

A few things that “connect” you to the ground are mattress (and the bed), shoes, chairs, footwear etc.

I dont recall where I read this first but more I think about this, more sense it makes. Its cool if you want to buy a cheap phone, shabbily made dress etc. But your feet take the most of the grunt in the day. You better have great shoes. And no, not fancy or goodlooking ones. But functional ones. And the only two brands that I recommend are Nike and Crocs. Ditto for mattress. And chair. Think about it. Use logic.

D. I love my mornings! I may claim to love nights but I love my mornings even more. To the point that the day my mornings dont go as per plan, the entire day is wasted. Take today for example. In my scheme of things, mornings are not meant for exercise et al. But then a game like Cricket requires a team and for most others, morning is where fitness takes priority!

Coming back. The days I cant get up early and step out of the house and get some things done, I feel terrible and the entire day gets “wasted”. I mean today, all I have done is write for a bit, worked on SoG for a bit and agonised in the pain inflicted by the minuscule amount of cricket that I played!

If I were to club A, B and D, I need to probably find a sport that makes me move around and can be played at afternoons. Or late evenings.

And you could try and understand if you are a morning person or a night person. How do you find out? Not through what you love. But as Charlie says, invert! Question to ask yourself is, “fucking what part of the day affects you the most?” For me, its the morning! You?

E. Sports bonds people like nothing else.
The people I played with, they were probably aged between 20 and 45. And from different backgrounds, interest areas, personalities, varying degree of proficiency and all that. But while playing, most of them had the single-minded focus of the game. And they could do whatever for their team to win. They dint think about their differences and they came together to focus on the game!

Can I take lessons and use sports as as tool to make my team at C4E and all other initiatives more tight-knit?

I have seen team-building games in action at most of the events that I have worked on as an event manager but most clients do it as mere lip-service. They do it once a year and hope for miracles. Can I use create an ongoing intervention that makes my team come closer? Need to think.

And, having said that, I know that sports can also create great divides. I saw it happen today. And we all know about “enmity” between fans of competing teams! So, need to put some thought!

So yeah, thats about it for the day.

Over and out.

The Birthday Blues

So, the most depressing day is here. A day when you’re constantly reminded by everyone – friends, family, neighbours, strangers, brands, businesses trying to sell to you, hoardings, pop ups, enemies, ex-girlfriends, future girlfriends, Tinder dates and what not – that you are an year older and have one less year left. To make that impact. To reach that goal. To give happiness away. Hell, to be happy.

I know conventional wisdom says that I ought to be happy and get sloshed and throw parties and all that. I think the entire world has to be happy on my birthday. After all I am The One. Well, everyone is The One. But in my mind, my heart, I am.

Point being, the day is of course special. People look forward to it. People plan for it. Event managers like me actually make houses and what not, thanks to elaborate celebrations that people plan and the obscene amount of money they spend on the day.

Am sure at some point in time it was special for me as well. At least in 2004 (April 24, 2004) when I signed up for a google email address and a blog titled, well, septemberthe22nd. I don’t know when the switch flipped and I became an escapist. Yeah that’s the word. Escapist. I am sure I would be escaping something when I switched off my phone for the first time on my birthday. And since I’ve been pretty jobless almost all my life I would have easily escaped to a cave or something. And I would’ve liked the not speaking to people bit (afterall I get embarrassed about things and I dont know how to show gratitude or say thank you). And like a drug, I got hooked onto it. And it has sort of worked fine for me. And like any other creature of habit, I now do it every year. And I plan to do it for rest of my life.

Thing is, I’ve never understood all the festivity surrounding a birthday. Every day is a new day and you are sort of born everyday when you get up in the morning. Or in the afternoon, depends on how things are at your end. I am ok celebrating a new year – on Dec 31. Or on Diwali, as I’ve been taught as I was growing up. I am all for making yearly plans and resolutions about things you ought to do the next year. I actually take those pretty seriously – not that they work out often. But on the day you were born? I dont know if its worth all the hoopla around it.

You may argue that you turn over a year and you are older. And thus wiser and thus must celebrate. But you don’t add a year to your life at the flip of a button on your birthday. It’s a slow gradual process and you don’t even realise when the eyes begin to sag, the hairlines start to recede (lol) and that stoop in your walk becomes prominent. If it were a flip, it would be worth celebrating. But its not and no there is no celebration. Nah, every day is not a celebration. There are ups and downs. Highs and lows. Smiles and tears. And so on and so forth.

However, there is that silver lining as well. sgMS texts you. By herself. So what if the conversation is awkward and you exchange all of 4 texts? And 2 of those texts are emoticons and one is a “thank you” from your side? How many times does she message you by herself in a year? Once! And that by itself makes the ordeal worth the effort.

So what about plans for the 35th year of my life? The same – that has been around since I was 16. Get rich (Richest man in the world). Buy a cars (cars actually, latest obsession is GLS). Buy a house (houses around the world). Make some impact (enable people, eradicate poverty etc). Get fitter (30″, Everest). Fall in love. Learn new things. Work hard. Try and get sleep. Repeat till I die.

That’s it for the time being. And here is a thing before I leave you. Thank you Swanand for this.

Oh, and, one more thing. Thank you everyone for calling me, messaging me etc. I did not know that so many people care for me. Humbled. Really am. The best thing to have happened ~~today~~ yesterday? A peck on the cheek from MG as she cut my birthday cake 🙂

I am unwell. And I hate it.

I goto extreme lengths to ensure that I am not unwell. Because when I am unwell, I hate it. And I refuse to take medication. So it takes forever to ~~heal~~ get back to normal. Well, the only medication I trust is a can of Red Bull. Which in cases like headache is of no use to be honest. Last time I took a proper medication was in Jan of this year when blood started to trickle down my nose for no reason. The doctor prescribed a seven day course followed by a CT scan. I took meds for exactly two days and CT scan, well lol! Of course I take medication for my Lichen Planus. But that’s homeopathy and it is yet to establish itself as science and medication.

Coming back, I am unwell and I hate it. I think I am saying this for the third time. Why would I risk repeating same thing over and over and over again? In a matter of 50 words? Because I mean it.

Lately, I’ve been falling sick with an alarming frequency. I don’t know what to blame it on. Few things that could be wrong are…

My old age (32 and past my half-life and prime)
My mortal fear of old age
The unnaturally big beer belly (despite the fact that I don’t like beer. Or any other form of alcohol)
My borderline, suspect case of diabetes (I am always thirty, I pee a lot and I am always drowsy)
The lame attempts at polyphasic sleep (which in my opinion you just can’t try if you live in India – there are far too many distractions and door bells to allow you to do that)
The mandatory bouts of depression that every writer is supposed to suffer from (did you buy the book yet?)
The anxiety about my unknown, uncertain future (in terms of personal, financial, writing etc)
My craving for sgMS (I have spoken about this more than required)
My loneliness (it’s prime-time on Valentine’s day and all I am stuck indoors, flipping channels on TV)
My general inability to focus on anything for more than 3 nanoseconds (ADD or ADHD – whatever sounds more exotic to you)
My perpetual hunger even though I have eaten a few minutes back (yoga shastra says eating disorders have deeper connections – you eat a lot when you are insecure about something. The body wants to horde food, expecting a calamity in the near future. After all we are probably the best survival machines ever made. It’s fascinating. Do read about evolution if you can)
And I don’t know what else

Whatever it is, it is not nice. And I don’t know how to fix it. Where are those free hugs guys?

Source: Unknown.

The tales of a grumpy old man

One of the things that keeps me up at night is that I am growing old. By the day, by the hour and by the minute. And with old age, I am getting grumpy, fat, unhealthy, lethargic, stubborn, headstrong and other things. And I dont like any of that. And I dont know what is the escape. I cant stop the aging process and I cant stop the side-effects. Its like being on a conveyor belt that is moving towards a destination that I cant control!

Older than the mountains

Bukowski’s Dirty Old Man.

I am old.

And I can feel it. I feel it in the aching joints and sore muscles. In the perpetually tired brain and never-ending exhaustion. In the desperate lunges towards my bed to answer my dying need for sleep. And in the desperate, loud protests for not getting up even when I have rested enough. I feel it in this need to take breaks even when I ought to concentrate on the big task ahead. And in longer than average time that I take to make those snap calls. I feel it when people half my age talk about making twice in one year that I’ve made cumulatively in my entire life. And when I know that I’d never be able to catch up with them. I feel old when every interaction with a member of opposite gender makes me cringe and gives me butterflies in my stomach. And when the opposite gender ignores my attempts at these interactions. I feel it when friends talk about things like homes and babies and health. And when I have nothing to contribute in such discussion.

I feel old.

I can see it as well. Its actually easier to see. I see it all the time. Starting with the balding head. And the white sprinkled carelessly in my beard and whatever mop of hair is left on my head. I see it in ugly eye-bags. And thick folds on my neck. Double, triple chin. Aging, freckled, skin that could well have been the underside of a dried leaf if I weren’t this dark. I see it when I get called “uncle” and other such things by people who are not more than a couple of years younger than I. And when I am in two minds about addressing someone that even if they look my age. I can see it in my boredom that creeps on me when I goto these loud fancy places that everyone else seems to be reveling in. And when, much to my surprise, I enjoy going to these simple quiet hideouts where a few years back I wouldn’t even want to tread. I see it when things I loved to eat, the McDonalds, Coke et al when I was younger get replaced by boring foods like Muesli and Green Tea. And especially when I seem to enjoy em more than the greasy, fried cousins. I see it when I catch myself staring into a mirror all the time trying to notice that new faint age line that had appeared last night. I see it when I think twice, sometimes thrice, before choosing on a shirt for that all-important meeting. I see it when I my hands and feet start shaking by themselves. I see it all the time. All the time.

I can see that I am old.

If this is growing up, getting old is growing up, even if its a small part, I did not sign up for this. I did not.

P.S.: If there is one author that you ought to read before you die, you ought to read all of work from Bukowski. Really. And despite all my fandom I cant seem to spell his name right. I have to Google for it every time.